


Someday Is Better Than Never

by sweetrupturedlight



Series: By God's Grace [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrupturedlight/pseuds/sweetrupturedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The combination of two prompts on tumblr: "Set a couple of years after Aramis becomes a monk and for some reason Anne and the dauphin seek sanctuary at his monastery". As well as "Phillipe...they managed it somehow didn't they? How?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday Is Better Than Never

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: This is for drakedoremus and the wonderful toooldforthisreally on tumblr. Their prompt(s) came after I had written A Perception. This fic is therefore almost a "prequel" to that one shot, explaining Philipe's conception and how Aramis becomes a Cardinal. 
> 
> I am still taking prompts. Thank you for reading x

The Dauphin was three years old when the Royal family were forced to flee the Louvre because of civil unrest. Anne's reaction was to seek asylum at the convent she'd always viewed as her place of refuge. Her Musketeers however, disagreed. The abbey too well known as a place the Queen might go to seek sanctuary. The King would be taken to another location, but she would journey with Constance and the Dauphin. It would not bode well to have the family travelling collectively. Should they be discovered, they might all be killed together, throwing the monarchy into anarchy.

Riding under cover of night, Anne kept her head down, gritting her teeth against the ferocious pace. Although so long ago, fleeing thus reminded her of the day she'd been rescued from the Louvre by her Musketeers and spirited away to safety. The day  _he_  had come for her, begging her to escape.

Just behind her, her son rode with Porthos, resting against the broad chest of the Musketeer. Louis had a particular fondness for Porthos, his favourite of the King's Musketeers. This was no doubt due to the fact that he always made a point of interacting with Louis when there was cause to do so. Her heart squeezed a little. Her son would never know he lay against the shoulder of the man who was his father's best friend.

"How far Captain?" she called, her horse drawing close to Athos.

"Across the hill your Majesty. Less than thirty minutes and we will be there." Athos slowed his pace a little, looking over to Anne.

"Captain?" She could tell there was something on his mind by the way his shoulders straightened just a little more than usual.

"I should warn your Majesty... our destination is the monastery at Douai."

"I had guessed as much when we headed north." Anne cast a sidelong glance to the usually stoic Captain who looked utterly uncomfortable with the current topic. She knew what he was thinking. She'd been thinking the same thing.

Aramis had retired to Douai three years before. While Constance told her he wrote occasionally, she had not seen, nor heard from him since the day Rochefort had been killed. She had no idea how he fared, how well he had adapted to monastic life, whether he thought about her – about  _them_  – as much as she did about him.

The closer they galloped, the more anticipation gripped her. Would he be the same man she'd once loved –  _still_  loved?

They rode in silence, wrapped in their own thoughts. At the entrance to the large stone monastery, Athos waved their delegation in before dismounting and shouting to D'artagnan to help him secure the gates. Monks flooded into the courtyard, scurrying to determine the source of the commotion.

"Apologies Father," Athos said as he addressed one of the monks. "We are in need of asylum."

"Our humble home is no place for conflict Monsieur-"

"I travel with the Queen of France and the Dauphin." Athos gestured towards Anne who nodded at the monks gathered around.

The Father bowed low. "Apologies. Her Majesty and the Dauphin are always welcome." He clapped his hands and two of his brothers appeared. "Ready rooms for our guests."

Athos waited until the instructions had been dispensed before casting a quick look at Anne. He stepped close and asked, "There is one among you who we have an acquaintance with."

The monk nodded, his expression not in the least surprised. "I believe I might know to whom you refer." Again he clapped and a tall, lanky adolescent appeared. "Please send for our young brother."

Anne stood impatiently, surprised to feel the palms of her hands sweating. She wiped them on the front of her gown and clasped them serenely in front of her, trying not to fidget. Although mere minutes, it felt as though time stood still in the moments before he arrived. From the opposite side of the courtyard Aramis appeared, striding with purpose. His gait, all determined in its function, was not one suited to a monastery where everything seemed to happen at a leisurely pace. Watching the single-minded economy of his movement, Anne felt butterflies flap on the inside of her belly.

He looked as vital as ever, even without leather and weapons strapped to his body. Anne forgot herself and stared shamelessly. Wearing the black voluminous robes of the order, Aramis walked towards their party. He had not cut his hair, but his beard had been trimmed somewhat, giving him a slightly more refined air. She tried to take in as much of him as possible, noting the thin leather belt around his waist, his only adornment - she was pleased to note - the jewelled crucifix she had gifted to him so long ago.

"I believe you know these men," Father Julian said.

Aramis nodded, a smile already teasing the corners of his lips. His eyes were alight with humour and pure joy. "I do."

"Well then, invite them in."

The father turned, leaving Aramis with the Musketeers and the Queen's small entourage. It took all but a minute before D'artagnan launched himself into his arms. Next was Athos, slightly more restrained. But it was Porthos whose embrace brought tears to Anne's eyes. The two men, the best friends, clung to each other tightly, clapping each other on the back repeatedly.

"Damn, but black seems to be your colour."

"Is there any colour that is not made for me, Porthos?"

"A man of God does not covet vanity."

Aramis rolled his eyes, but there was a lightness around him so reminiscent of the essence she attributed to him. As he pulled back, his eyes took in their larger party and his smile dimmed somewhat as it landed on her. For the first time in her life, words seemed to fail her. Should she smile broadly as she wished to, feign indifference or politely acknowledge his presence? In the end, a small smile and a nod of recognition was all she could muster.

Anne stepped forward, her palms moist again. "Aramis."

Her eyes found his and every bit of longing stored there called out to him. As if an invisible string existed between them, they took tentative steps towards each other until he stood before her. If she reached out, she could touch his cheek, caress his hand or place her palm across his heart. Of course, she did nothing of the sort.

"Majesty." He bowed, but not very low, his eyes peeking up at her, reminding her of all the other times he had addressed her as such. For a minute she had forgotten they were not alone. His eyes darted behind her to the child who rested in Constance's arms. Automatically, he took a small step back. The spell had been broken.

"The Queen and the Dauphin need rest. Please, this way."

Anne and Constance followed, walking through simple stone corridors. The monastery was sparse, just like the convent, every piece of furniture serving a specific purpose, nothing in excess. Aramis entered a small chamber with a narrow bed, one chair and a single candle. He opened a connecting door that lead into another room, roughly the same size with no additional amenities.

"Constance might sleep here. I am sorry the accommodations are not more comfortable."

"We have made do with the same before," Anne said, her eyes flitting briefly to his. "We humbly do so again."

"Your Majesty," Constance began. "I should put the Dauphin to bed."

Anne nodded. "Of course. Forgive me, please, see to my son."

The boy had awoken now, his cheeks rosy with sleep. Constance moved but he saw his mother and cried out. At three, he was tall and hardy, his hair a wild mop of dark brown hair. Deep blue eyes filled with tears born from being over stimulated and tired.

"I'll take him for a minute," Anne said, knowing it was the only way he might settle.

"I'll find D'artagnan and see what can be done about securing a meal," Constance offered, brushing Louis's hair from his eyes.

"Let me show you-" Aramis began.

"Wait," Anne called. She saw him halt, his back towards her. She had to be a fool not to notice the way his shoulders tensed. Constance looked at her with apprehension, but Anne nodded to her, silently requesting some privacy.

When the door clicked shut behind her, Anne readjusted her son. "You are well, Aramis? Monastic life seems to suit."

He turned then and looked at her, sheepish. "I am but a novice," he said with a small smile. "Father Benedici refers to me as  _the one under obedience_." Aramis shifted on his feet, his hands resting on his hips. Then, as if he remembered himself, his hands moved and clasped piously in front of his abdomen. "He is not convinced that I am able to fully conform to this life." His words were simple, a straightforward truth.

"You did not have to do this, Aramis."

"I know." The child whimpered again and his voice trailed off. "I chose to."

Anne shifted the Dauphin. "Would you like to meet a Musketeer?" she asked the boy.

His eyes went wide, taking in the man before him. He looked at his mother and Anne smiled encouragingly. "This is Monsieur Aramis, the bravest of all the King's Musketeers."

"Porthos," her son said with the candour of a child.

Against his will, a chuckle escaped Aramis and it warmed Anne's heart. "Among the bravest -  _once_ ," he added. "But I do not object to losing the title to Porthos."

"Would you meet my son?"

She saw the pain in his eyes, but also the thrill. Against his better judgement he reached out and touched the boy's soft curls. "He is handsome," he said, unable to hide the pride in his voice.

"Yes, yes he is," she said with an eager smile. "And strong, bright and curious. He is an adventurer, Aramis." She needed him to know. It was important that he know just how much their child was like him.

Their eyes met and clung and everything that had always been between them weaved its magic. She felt the chemistry, the connection, the inevitable force of their impossible love. But his hand dropped from the child's head and he stepped back.

"I will see to your food. If there is anything you need, ask Constance. She will find me."

She wanted to say something,  _anything_  to keep him with her a moment longer. But there was a gentle knock at the door and Constance returned. Aramis nodded to her as he left, not looking back.

Anne was surprised by the conflicting emotions at war inside of her. Her elation at seeing him was tempered by the grave knowledge of the pain that awaited her the minute she would have to leave him.

"Are you alright?" Constance enquired, her eyes clouded with worry.

Anne nodded bravely. "Let me see to my son."

Constance readied a small bath and Anne fed him before he was put to bed. The sun had set now and the monastery was eerily quiet. Constance readied Anne for bed before moving to the small antechamber where the Dauphin slept.

"Constance, no. Please, go find your husband."

"Your Majesty, my place is at your side."

Anne shook her head reassuringly. "We are in a monastery. Louis is exhausted and will sleep without interruption. You have scarcely seen D'artagnan today. Go. I will see you in the morning."

"Are you sure? What if he wakes-"

"Then I shall see to him."

"Will you not eat something first?"

"Constance," Anne said, exasperated. "Go."

Constance hugged her. "Thank you. I will return by sunrise."

Alone in the room, Anne checked on her son again. With arms flung out wide, he slept soundly and she was sure, would not wake at all. The ride had been long and arduous, not easy for a child his age.

There was a soft knock at the door and she waited expectantly as it opened, thinking she'd have to scold Constance. Her heat skipped a beat when Aramis stood at the threshold. He looked uncomfortable, sorry even, to be intruding.

"I brought some candles. With the Dauphin... you might need more light."

"Thank you." That was all she could manage to say from across the room.

"I looked for Constance, but she is with D'artagnan and I did not wish to disturb them," he continued by way of an explanation she did not need.

"That was wise." They stared at each other in silence. "I asked her to seek him out. It has been a trying day and there was no need for her to remain with me," Anne rambled, desperate to keep him with her for a moment longer.

Aramis frowned, his eyes darting to the anti-chamber. "The Dauphin-"

"Is fast asleep. He will not wake this night."

He nodded and turned to leave but then remembered the candles in his hand. Moving towards her, he held them out.

Anne looked at them, then at him. He was so close now that she involuntarily took a step closer. She reached for the offering and their hands brushed. The small contact was heady. Her eyes flickered to his, but he was looking at their fingers. Gently, she brushed her hand across his again, closing her eyes and swallowing at the intensity of the feelings stirring to life inside of her.

"Anne," he cautioned, squeezing his eyes shut. She knew then he felt it too, the same weakness.

"I know," she whispered. His fingers wrapped around hers until he held her hand.

"Aramis," she murmured, nothing more than an agonised whisper of longing as their fingers lacing tightly.

"I know," he growled before yanking her forward, his lips crushing against hers.

The kiss was explosive, heated and ardent. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him close lest he see fit to end the contact. But he was in no mood to stop. Scooping her into his arms, Aramis carried her to the narrow bed and lay her down. Willingly, Anne opened her arms to him and welcomed him home. Hands roamed and lips paid homage with beloved reverence. When he sank into her, she sighed, drawing his lips back to hers, wrapping herself around his body.

"Anne," he whispered raggedly in her ear, over and over again as he moved inside her, eventually finding his release. But still it wasn't enough. Sated kisses turned passionate with little encouragement as their bodies moved together again and again.

Anne nuzzled against him, content for the first time in almost four years. The reality was sobering and she pushed the dark thoughts away, leaning over and pressing her lips to the crucifix that lay against his heart.

"I should go," he whispered, his lips placing a soft kiss to her forehead. Anne lay in his arms, a leg carelessly draped across his.

"Not yet, please."

"I will be missed at midnight mass. I must go."

She moved back, trying to look into his eyes but the room was too dim. With one final kiss to her brow, he moved and slipped back into his robes. Anne too dressed, pulling her nightdress over her head.

"I am a novice," he said slowly, pushing her hair behind her ear. "After three years here, I am still a novice."

"Will you leave the order?" She couldn't help but hold her breath.

When he shook his head, her heart sank; more devastated than she had a right to be. He dedicated himself to God. There was no greater cause.

Aramis clasped her hands, pressing it fervently to his lips.

"I have not been able to commit to my duty because I've been trapped in the past, unable to see the future... to fully accept this as my life. There was no closure for us, nothing to bring our lives full circle."

"I do not understand."  _Was this closure?_  Her entire being rebelled at the thought.  _Was this the end?_

Gathering her into his arms, he buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply. Anne held on to him, unsure of what he meant.

"I cannot be a Musketeer and within your sphere. It is too dangerous for you and for the Dauphin. I have a duty here and in order to exist in your world, I must fulfil it. I must become a different man. A man of God."

Clarity dawned. "Aramis... the Church?"

He nodded, bearing the relieved, satisfied look of a man who had made a decision about his future.

"But it could be years."

"Someday is better than never." He pressed his lips to hers and with her hand in his, walked into the adjoining chamber. Their son lay asleep, unaware of the emotional weight his existence caused. Aramis kneeled beside him, pressing his lips to the boy's forehead in a protracted kiss. Sweeping the rebellious strands off his brow, Aramis smiled down at his son with undisguised pride.  _They were so alike_ , Anne thought. Seeing them side-by-side broke and mended her spirit in equal portions.

"God go with you," he whispered to the child, pressing another kiss to his tiny hand before turning to Anne. Her eyes filled with tears. "I cannot say goodbye."

"Then don't." His voice was calm and assured, a man at peace. He pressed their foreheads together. "One day, this duty, will bring me back to you and our son." It was a vow reflected in his dark, smiling eyes.

With a final bittersweet kiss, Aramis departed. Despite her sadness, Anne felt a keen sense of hope, of renewal. The feeling proved fortuitous.

Nine months later, Anne birthed another son, Philippe I, Duke of Orléans. Like his brother, he too inherited his father's wayward hair and adventurous spirit.


End file.
